


Curst VicFic: Oatmeal ballerina

by vics-spicy-jalapenis (donprisciotte)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Cursed, M/M, Squick, Stylistic Suck, inappropriate food comparisons, let Washington be a princess 2k18, oniric visions of Agent Florida, poor usage of oatmeal and umbrellas, spanglish, you're gonna wish I was high when I wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donprisciotte/pseuds/vics-spicy-jalapenis
Summary: Tuckingmaine VicFic requested by the legend Crunchself.The prompts were:- oatmeal- umbrella- noodely-dudelyAnd I solved it with: - ballerina.  Needless to say it's cursed.





	Curst VicFic: Oatmeal ballerina

Ladies and gentledudes, chicas and chicos, reddudes and bluechachos and compadres from other teams, buckle your maracas and sit on your buttchiquitas ‘cause it’s time for another story by your amigo Vic! 555-V-I-C-K, doodely doo! Sssoooo, long story short there are infinite universes with infinite stories and all that stuff, you know how it works, dude. Anyway! This one takes place in the Epsilon AI unit. What if instead of that Tex muchacha, someone else arrived at Blood Gulch?  
  
*season 14 opening*

 

It was the iteration number 69, my dude, and this time Churcherino was gonna doodely-do things properly: set up an encounter with Tex, take her out, get some taco, add some extra sour cream if you know what I mean. Wink wink!  
Anyway, for some reason things weren’t going as he hoped, there always seemed to be something wrong with his red and blue amigos and he had to set things right. He had already explained the diddly doodely dealio to his teal-io amigo Tucker, but that muchacho wasn’t having any of that. Not really cool, dude, but then again, Church needs to take a chill pill.

 

“Seriously, you really need to look into the stalker thing.”

“For the last time, Tucker, it’s romantic!”  
  
“Does this dead chick have a robussy, at least?”

 

The camera panned to Tucker. Now, that dude was asking the important questions. It was only one small preguntita, but the courage behind it was muy mucho grande, diddly dude.

 

“I…Uh…I guess, ye– no, wait. Wait…”  
  
“…”  
  
“…”  
  
“You’ve never got a chance to see it, have you?”  
  
“Stop asking questions.”

 

“Woah oh HOLY SHIT, you’ve never seen your imaginary girlfriend’s pussy!” the aqua compadre spoke for all of us as he laughed his buttchiquitas off “What are you, a fucking incel?”

“SHUT. UP. TUCKER.”  
  
“Or what are you gonna do? Try to shoot me with the sniper rifle and hit a rock?”

“Tucker, I swear to G–”  
  
“HEY, CABOOSE!” he yelled to get the attention to our lovely Caboose dude, or Caboode, our lovely caboodely dude. “TURNS OUT YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY VIRGIN IN THE TEAM ANYMORE! CHURCH IS JOINING YOU NOW, AREN’T YOU HAPPY?”

“YES!!! THIS IS GOING TO BE THE BEST BEST-FRIEND CLUB EVER!” dude happily emerged from behind the tank he was fixing, missing the point as always “LOOK! WE EVEN HAVE MATCHING BLUE ARMOUR!”

 

“They’re not the same shade, dumbass!”

 

“Yes they are! I’m blue…Church is blue…YOU’re the one who’s…Aqua…”

 

“Ugh, whatever.” he walked away “Tsk, I bet the Reds don’t have to put up with this kind of crap…Wait. ”

 

He couldn’t believe what his eyeballitas were spotting in the distance.  He saw a little silhouetto a of dude. Scary mucho, scary mucho, would he get dark armoured taco? Tucker walked up to them, saw dark armour and called his amigo:

 

“Church, look!”  
  
“Not now Tucker.”

 

“Church, look!”

 

“I said NOT NOW, Tucker.”  
  
“Your imaginary girlfriend is here!”  
  
Church ran towards them “Oh holy FUUUUUUCK, no, no, no, no!” whoop nevermind, Church ran away immediately as he noticed who that diddly figure actually was, leaving Tucker there with the dude.

 

“Hello. I am Agent Washington of Project Freelancer, and you’d better give me the Epsilon AI now that I ask you befo–”

 

“WOAH! You’re not a chick!”

 

“No.”

 

“Lame.” Tucker’s Senor El Diquito went from fiesta to siesta real quick “Oh, uhh, you wanna come in, bud? I’m making breakfast.”

 

“Sure. Thanks.”

 

“No problem, let’s go.”

 

“After you.” Agent Washington smiled, well spoken like a true freelancer compadre, as he checked out that muchacho’s puerta behindita, fantasies of storing his dick queso in there plaguing his mind like cucarachas. No wonder he wanted to get this Epsilon thing over with, he was straight as an arrow before him but then implantation stuff went on - wink wink! - and homie was now a raging homosexual. But  the stream of consciousnachos of that muchacho was interrupted by that Tucker dude, who almost made him chill for a sec.

 

“You freelancers are lucky bastards, you get to hang out with hot chicks. Here it’s always all-male teams, a sausage party.”

 

“Well, we don’t really get to hang out with girls much…We’re always in the middle of a mission.”

 

“Dude, if there’s a chick nearby then you have a chance at sex, if you don’t it’s just because you’re shit at it. And you know what that means? Time for some advanced class with Professor Fuck!”

 

“Time for _what_ with _who_?” Agent Washingdude felt like half scared and half hopeful, and also half horny. No, wait, dude, he was half hopeful and half scared because he was all around horny. His front upper body buttchiquitas went all red and caliente like the fuego he hoped he was gonna feel soon, in his burrito walls. He knew that a real amigo would have added sour cream.

 

“Relax, dude, it’s me. Lesson number one: First of all, you gotta talk to them, so you find the chick you want, you walk up to her and then–”

 

“Treat her like a princess? Absolutely not!” this mucho hetero nonsense had the whole world fall on him like some muchacho who was too borracho would have fallen from a mechanical bull, crushing his hopes and dreams real quick “I’m jaded, because I can’t trust anyone, I’m not putting effort into any of this, I–”

 

“Dude, what the fuck?”

 

“What if I want to be treated like a princess, for a change? I deserve it after all I have been through!”

 

“…You know, maybe Church was right about things being wrong in this world.” that mucho homo nonsense, on the other handita, had triggered Tucker’s inner squickerino and he wasn’t having any of that either. He could swear every damn diddly dude in that canyon was crazy. Again, not really cool.

 

“Oh, right, Church…The Epsilon AI.”

 

“What’s your deal with him?”

 

“I have to take him to the Chairman so that I can get out of prison.”

 

“Yeah, right…He never told me about it, and he just won’t shut the fuck up talking about himself, so I’m just gonna assume you’re bluffing.”

 

“I’m serious.” Dude took off his helmet and his taco shell coloured eyebrows, matching with his hair, did a real threatening push-up, which meant this was an indeed big dealio, dude.

 

“You said you wanted to be a princess!”

 

“And did I fucking stutter, Private Tucker?!”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“…I’m just gonna make oatmeal.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  


##  **R A W R**

Tuckerino looked at him like WOAH, WHAT’S GOING ON, DUDE? No noise was that unholy since the Alien Engineer compadre’s passing. Rest in peace, doodely dude. You were chill, dude.

 

“Woah, dude, was that your stomach?”

 

“No, it was my friend…The Meta.”

 

“The WHAT?”  
  
“RAWQQQRRRSSSHH HAWRAWGHLHA!” announced our huge white freelancer compadre as he disabled his invisibilididdly enhancement, revealing the toned buttchiquitas he had worked hard to get.  

 

“He said you’re going to lead us to the Epsilon AI or else–”

 

“But isn’t the real you out there actually trying to get the AI?” Tuckerino yawned as he distractedly checked the oatmeal. Little did that dude know how creamy that breakfast was gonna be. Wink wink! Just sayin’. “Aren’t you just a fake you?”

 

“Aren’t we all fake?” Washingdude was depressed and full of thoughts of revenge and chorizo as always “Isn’t that the reason why we’re here?”

 

“HRWARWA?”

 

“Seriously, dude. It’s like 9am and thanks to you I already got a fucking headache!” whined our teal amigo, feeling said headache like a needlio stabbing him in the cabeza “Congratulations, ASSHOLES!”

 

“Listen, I’ve been lied to, backstabbed, shot at and been called names by the same people that wronged you. I am going to put a stop to this and you don’t get to be ungrateful about it.”

 

“Well, we can talk about your stupid quest later, okay?” he switched off the oatmeal fuego and turned himself on “Oatmeal’s ready.”

 

“Epsilon has been inside of me, Tucker.” he felt like choking and a tear leaked from his right eyeballita like when the jalapenis was too spicy “It’s personal. And if I can’t take him, then I will take you.”

 

“Bow chicka bow wow?”

 

“Yes. I mean it.”

 

“Rawr. Wergle rawr aschhwrow?” suggested the biggest compadre, who was soon to become the main(e) dude of this spicy adventure. Mucho caliente.

 

“What? That’s too kinky, Meta.”

 

“There’s no such thing as too kinky, Wash.” dude shrugged “Alright, big dude, show me what you’ve got.”

 

“Whargl.” he nodded taking his armour off, he was now in the nude with his noodely-dudely jalapenis hanging, now he was squatting, mouth wide open ready for sour cream as he started literally barking, or rawring, orders to his bumblebee-armoured amigo “Gewerschlaugh rawrrawr.”

 

Not even time for Tuckerino to blink that Washingdude was there in front of him, nakey nakey eggs and bakey, arms up in the air, fifth position en haute, pale and delicate like a tortilla. Needless to say they all needed to chill.  
  


“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS DOING?!”

 

“I will be a beautiful ballerina, just like Princess Tutu.”

 

“I…Huh?”

 

Something appeared to Tucker and Tucker only: it was our very own compadre Agent Florida, finally someone who was chill, ready to save the day as always, his cabeza floating on the ceiling, speaking his subordudenate words of wisdom:

 

“Alright, private Tucker, the ball is in your court: this only happens once in a blue moon, so please jump on the bandwagon,  you wouldn’t want to miss the boat! It’s time for me to hit the hay, now, but let me tell you this…If you remember your training then it’s going to be a piece of cake. With love, from your mentor and friend, Cappy Butch Flowers.”

 

The Meta was now the main(e) attraction, lubing up Washingdude’s buttchiquitas with oatmeal, the chili texture of his dudely walls feeling like heaven on Meta’s fingerinos. But there wasn’t mucho tiempo to waste, so he grabbed his Brute Shot and folded it. It was now a beautiful swan. Mucho weirdo, that wasn’t part of the plan. So the main(e) dude folded it again and it was now the biggest umbrella in the universe. He rammed it into his tortilla loooking compadre, handle vibrating inside of him, brrrr, whole lotta shaking going on, dude, wink wink! Anyway, this hugely doodely umbrella started from inside his burrito and ended right above his cabeza, top notch scratching against his skull, stretchers trapping his handitas, runnerino and top spring hurting his neck and bottom spring digging some bloody hole in his lower back, muy delicioso dude. If you want to be a mucho deliciosa princess dudette, you gotta suffer a lil bit.  
  
Our very own Tucker compadre was distracted from his oniric vision of Agent Floridude by the sharp pain of the Meta ripping and schlorping his toenails.  
  


“AAAHH! WHAT THE FUCK?!”

 

“Do as he says, cum in the oatmeal!” whined Washingdude “You have ten seconds before he kills us both!”

 

“What? I can’t cum in ten seconds! I can only cum in five!”  
  
“Four!” he yelled. They were preparing for the very epic cool moment to take place. Just a bit of patience and things would’ve gotten jalapeno level caliente. For now it was like, salsa.  

 

“Fuck!”

 

“Th-three!”

 

“Uhhhnnnn…”

 

“Two!”

 

“GASP.”

 

“One!”

 

“AOWWWWWWWWUugghhh…” he spilled his hot beans inside the hot pot of hot oatmeal. Caliente! Which means hot. Wink wink, doodely doo!

 

“G-g-get a spoon,” faintly emitted the freelancer muchacho “I cannot resist for much longer…”

 

“What am I supposed to– Oh, I got it!”

 

This was our bluedarino’s moment: he took a spoon, immerged it into the pot of oatmeal and flailed it around, drops of cummy oatmeal  flying towards Washingdude - who was spinning like a mucho caliente ballerina dudarina, muy delicioso dude - and bounced from his umbrella reverse-tutu to Maine who was crouching there ready to gargle. And then they went on like this again and again, dude, like, for really mucho tiempo! Too bad at a certain point Agent David Absodudely-no-chill Washington dropped dead, which was uncool.  
  
“…”  
  
“…”  
  
“…”

 

After this intense moment of mucho silence, the caboodely dude while entering the base with Church, no diddly idea what the hell was going on:  

 

“SUPER BEST-FRIEND CLUB OF BEST FRIENDS IS HERE FOR BREAKFAST TIME!”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“Uhhh, Church? I’m confused.”

 

“It’s okay, Caboose. We’re all confused.”

 

The End, dude.


End file.
